


Out Of The Blue

by Sixthlight



Series: Old Guard Pern AU [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pern Fusion, Deconstruction, Gen, Impression (Dragonriders of Pern), M/M, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Nile Freeman, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Nile Freeman Needs a Hug, Politics, Worldbuilding, cameos from Quynh and Booker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/pseuds/Sixthlight
Summary: “This is not going to be all right,” was the first thing Y’suf said to N’colo, two tendays later. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Old Guard Pern AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942555
Comments: 34
Kudos: 228





	Out Of The Blue

Hatchings were always a special time at the Weyr; there was all the betting on how many dragons of which color would emerge from the eggs, of course, and this time Scythiath had laid a _queen_ egg, which meant that they had visitors from Ista Hold and beyond.

N’colo had a personal bet with S’bastien regarding the number of bronze and brown hatchlings. It was partially a matter of a personal joke, because S’bastien’s Marsilieth had flown Scythiath the time before this and produced no bronze hatchlings at all, and neither had Genoth and Ngoth when Ngoth had risen the time before that. So being the first to do so again would be a matter for some crowing. Partially it mattered; if they had no bronze hatchlings yet _again_ , the pressure would increase from the other Weyrs for a bronze rider or two from Fort or Telgar to transfer – they had more than enough – and Andromache was dead set against that.

Having transferred here himself from High Reaches eight Turns before, after L’kon had died and S’bastien had been the last bronze rider left at Ista, N’colo could imagine how poorly it would go, if they became insistent. Andromache had only threatened to stab him once, and it had been, he now felt, entirely deserved; if they got someone like S’ven from Fort, there likely _would_ be a stabbing. N’colo would be perfectly happy to hold Andromache’s flight leathers for her while she did it, too.

But all of the musing about hatchlings and colors and Andromache’s tendency to threaten people with knives went out of his head when he walked into the Hatching Grounds and fell precipitously in love, in a way that felt very similar and yet completely different to the way he had fallen in love fifteen Turns before this, when he had walked onto the sands at High Reaches and Impressed Genoth.

The object of his affections this time was not a newly-hatched dragon, but a tall man in Harper Hall blues, who turned and smiled at N’colo from the space set up for visitors. He had a fine black beard and a clever spark in his dark eyes. N’colo had never seen him before in his life, and immediately wanted to know everything about him.

_You’re not in_ love _with him,_ his dragon objected, a little sulkily. _You just want to mate with him, which isn’t the same thing._ Genoth was present, seated near Scythiath, who was hovering over her clutch. Ngoth and Marsilieth were here too; the dragons at Ista Weyr were nearly as strange in their behaviour as their riders, by any other Weyr’s standards.

_Let me exaggerate to myself,_ N’colo said, and shamelessly went to introduce himself; it was only proper, of course, that as the current Weyrleader (for however long it lasted) he speak to the Harper Hall’s representative.

“Weyrleader,” said the Harper, as he approached. “You must be S’bastien?”

“N’colo,” said N’colo. That happened a lot; he’d stopped minding. S’bastien just laughed when it happened to him. “We like to keep things lively around here, or I suppose our dragons do. S’bastien is over there talking to the Lord of the Hold and our junior Weyrwoman.”

“N’colo, my apologies; my information should be better,” the Harper apologised at once, but not in an obsequious way. N’colo liked him for it.

_You just want to like him_ , his dragon pointed out. _You’re very tedious when you’re like this._

“We are out of the way here,” N’colo said, ignoring Genoth’s grumbling. “Are you new to Ista? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We have not. My name is Yusuf.” He smiled; it was beautiful. “I am only visiting; I was at Telgar Hold until recently, and I will be back at the Hall to teach after this. But I am honoured to be here for a Hatching. And a queen egg!”

“We are all very excited,” said N’colo. “With the Red Star returning in twelve Turns, we need more dragons everywhere, and particularly here at Ista; two queens is nothing like enough. Some of the other Weyrs have sent candidates.”

“So I see,” said the Harper. They were coming out onto the sands now, in their white robes; young, mostly, between twelve and eighteen, although N’colo saw at least one woman who must be well past her twentieth Turn, dark in a way that made her robe glow against her, with – he squinted – a Benden Weyr badge. That, he thought, was something of a concern. An older queen rider would be a more assertive one, and a Benden-trained queen rider would have particular views, and he knew very well why he had been sent here from High Reaches; to bring Ista into line. That Andromache had brought him into line, instead, had pleased nobody.

“Do you know any of them, or are they relatives of yours?” Yusuf asked him. “You seem to be looking for someone.”

“Oh, no,” N’colo said at once. “I was raised at High Reaches, and they didn’t send us anybody this time. But of course I know all the candidates from our Weyr well. S’bastien and I have some private wagers on who will Impress which colours.”

“I can never keep track of how any of that is supposed to work,” Yusuf began, and N’colo put a hand on his arm; he had seen the first egg move. The Hatching was beginning.

The first dragon out of the shell was bronze, a very good sign, and quickly matched with one of the older Ista-born boys; all to the good. Then they started to shatter left and right, the candidates circling and darting back as the young dragons sought out their companions. The queen egg broke, with a croaking cry from the baby queen, and she made a straight dash for the dark Benden girl, who embraced her, tears streaming down her face. N’colo swore, silently; of course Genoth heard him.

_I think she will be good for us_ , his dragon said. _Linoth knew her right away._

_Linoth is our new queen, then?_

_Yes_ , Genoth confirmed. He sounded a little smug about it; well, he had the right.

Yusuf had been watching the Hatching fascinated, asking N’colo the odd question, and then all of a sudden he stiffened – and dashed out onto the sands.

N’colo swore out loud this time, and went after him. What had he seen? It was dangerous, and he shouldn’t – if a Harper got injured or killed at an Ista Weyr Hatching, they would _never_ hear the end of –

He stumbled to a halt. Yusuf was on his knees in front of a brown hatchling, tenderly picking pieces of egg and membrane off its fragile new skin. It looked at him adoringly.

“Yusuf?” N’colo said, carefully, watching out of the corner of his eye for stray hatchlings; but they mostly seemed to be matched, and new riders were encouraging them off the sands, to be fed for the first time.

“His name is Tunith,” Yusuf said, turning to N’colo with the glow in his eyes that N’colo remembered all too well; that absolute conviction that you were in the right place, you would never be alone, you were loved.

“Tunith,” N’colo repeated, just as carefully. “Yusuf. Y’suf. You need to feed him now.”

“Oh, yes, he’s very hungry.” Yusuf – Y’suf – got up, looking around. “Where – where do I –”

“This way,” N’colo said, shadowing the pair of them. Thoughts were tumbling through his brain. Y’suf was going to stay here, at Ista; he might actually get to know him, not passingly admire him; he was a Harper and now he was a dragonrider; the other Weyrs were going to grumble about unsuitable candidates; the woman from Benden was with them now too; he should be with Andromache, and he would join her, in a moment.

“This way,” he said again. “It’s all going to be all right.”

“Yes,” Y’suf said, still caught in the glow of Impression. “I know it is.”

*

“This is not going to be all right,” was the first thing Y’suf said to him, two tendays later. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“There really isn’t that much to it at this stage,” N’colo told him. “Feed them; bathe them; let them sleep.”

“That’s all very well,” Y’suf said, “but – ah, don’t take this the wrong way – for some years now I have been used to knowing my business as a Harper, I was returning to the Hall to try for my Mastery –” N’colo raised his eyebrows; that he _hadn’t_ known “– and now I don’t know how to butcher herdbeasts; I don’t know how to look after harnesses or flying leathers; I certainly don’t know about the anatomy or welfare of dragons; and I am sitting in classes for all these things with girls and boys less than half my age. So…there is quite a lot to it.”

N’colo bit back a smile, and turned his head. He wouldn’t want Y’suf to think he was laughing at him. “I suppose I did not think of all of that. I learned it when I was the age of those girls and boys.”

“In High Reaches.” Y’suf leant back against the warm lava rock of the Weyr’s great bowl walls, which, unlike any other Weyr, opened out onto the plateau that sloped down to the sea. They were sitting overlooking the feeding grounds, where Genoth was eating. Y’suf’s Tunith was asleep right now. “Tell me. How is High Reaches different from here? Holders tend to think the Weyrs all alike, but I know they all have their own character.”

“Colder,” said N’colo. “More dragons. More riders. We spent a lot more time in the hot springs.”

“Colder,” Y’suf repeated, his eyes laughing. “I know you know that isn’t what I meant.”

“It isn’t?”

Y’suf drew his knee up against his body with one arm, and waited. N’colo considered seeing how far his patience stretched; N’colo’s, among bronze riders, was considered legendary. But it would only be for his own amusement; he didn’t really mean to be difficult. Y’suf really was dealing with a heavy burden.

“No,” N’colo acknowledged, and instantly Y’suf smiled. N’colo was embarrassed by how quickly he had learned to want to see that smile. He waited for Genoth to say something sarcastic about it, but fortunately he was too busy with his meal. “No, it was much more formal. Traditional. They say in all the Weyrs, you know, that Weyrleader come and go but Weyrwomen remain. It’s true, but it is…not how the bronze riders act, most of the time. Some are content. The rest jockey for position, to have the best chance of their dragon flying the senior queen, when next she rises.”

“As you say.” Y’suf nodded. “I have heard that said about Weyrwomen too, and many of them are forthright, but this is the first Weyr I have ever heard of or visited – and I have been to more than one, most have not – where the Weyrwoman has the final say, in truth. Not in quiet words, but in the open.”

“I did not realise, until I came here,” N’colo admitted, “how unpleasant it made it for all the queen riders. The way it is usually done. There is also a belief – maybe there is some truth to it, I’m not sure anymore – that bedding a queen rider gives your dragon a better chance with hers, when next she rises. And I think it _is_ true, most of the time, that the more often the same bronze wins out, the better his chances next time. So…”

Y’suf’s face was very polite; well, he was a Harper. But N’colo could see it was a thin mask. “I can imagine how that might be unpleasant. If one was a queen rider.”

“The truth is, and it is hard,” N’colo said, “that we teach Weyr-raised girls that….that is how it is. Andromache has chosen to do things differently here. I find I like it.”

“So, what?” Y’suf raised his eyebrows. “You arrived here from High Reaches and were instantly seduced by Ista’s easygoing ways?”

N’colo laughed. “No. No, of course not. That would make me too wayward to be of any use, or a better man than I am. No, I came here believing that it was my duty to make sure Ista was ready when Thread came, in only twenty Turns, and with only two queen riders and one other bronze rider, none of whom were considered…steady…it would be my sole charge. So I tried to pay court to Andromache, _politely_ , I will emphasise, and she told me very plainly that if I thought I was ever going to lay a finger on her, during a mating flight or no, she would cut my throat and tell High Reaches there had been a dreadful accident.”

“I take it you believed her.”

“You’ve _met_ Andromache.”

“Oh, I have.” Y’suf tilted his head. “Dragonriders fighting dragonriders; that is the one thing that Pern has never allowed. And so close to the Red Star returning.”

“Yes, which made it very simple,” N’colo told him. “I did as she requested. Quỳnh and S’bastien made it clear they had her back in this, by the by. And it did not take me very long to see that there was less chance of riders fighting here than anywhere else, because they were not being…asked to do things they did not like or want, for the sake of the Weyr.” He shrugged. “Andromache was Holdless, before she Impressed. It’s not a secret; the other Weyrs don’t like to speak of it because she was a match for Scythiath when none of the Ista-raised girls, or those from any other Weyr, were. It offends our collective sense of, I suppose, purpose. But it gives her a very unique perspective on everything we do. And Quỳnh grew up in a small Hold in Nerat, too.”

“Unaccustomed to Weyr ways.” Y’suf smiled again, but it was a thin quirk of his lips. “I’ve heard that phrase.”

“Sometimes it’s right. There are things we do because we have to, and things we are because our dragons need us to be. But there are also things we do that we do not have to. I have learned.” N’colo leaned his head back against the warm rock, looking up into Ista’s cloudless blue sky. “You are very, very lucky to be here, you and Tunith, not-quite Master Harper. I really do believe that.”

“Not not-quite; never, now. My life is taking a different turn.”

Y’suf sounded wistful. N’colo turned to look at him. “ _Are_ you taking notes for _the_ Masterharper, somewhere? For when Tunith is old enough and you can revisit the Harper Hall as you like?”

“If I was, would I tell you, Weyrleader?”

“If you are serious about your life taking a different turn,” said N’colo, “and you meant to be a rider of Ista Weyr in truth – yes.” 

“I do,” Y’suf said, very seriously. “And – well, I expect we will have an interesting conversation, Master James and I, one day. But not in secret.” He blinked, sitting bolt upright. “Sorry – he’s awake.”

“Go, go,” N’colo said, and watched Y’suf scramble down the outcrop and take off. Genoth was almost done; he would doze for a bit, and then they had a patrol, this afternoon.

_Are you going to spend all your time with him_ , his dragon wanted to know.

_Of course not. I have my duties, and he has a hatchling dragon._

_If you must,_ Genoth sniffed, _he is growing on me._

_Like that scale-fungus the Healer keeps warning us about, that grows here because of the warm climate?_

_Perhaps_ , Genoth said, but it had the note of dragon laughter. He licked his muzzle, and looked up at N’colo.

*

“Anything else?” Andromache asked, leaning back in her chair. They were having their weekly meeting in the Weyr library; the two queen riders and the two bronze riders. It had been larger to start with – the Weyr Healer, the Weyrlingmaster, and the Headwoman, as well as the brown Flight Leaders – but now it was just the four of them. N’colo was itching to get out of this small room. Andromache was very good at keeping the meetings short, but with a new lot of hatchlings and riders in training, and it seeming very likely that Ngoth would rise again soon, there was a lot to deal with.

“Nothing I can think of,” said S’bastien. “Wait, no; A’den has requested a transfer to Fort.”

“What, he doesn’t like us?”

“He likes us just fine,” N’colo said; A’den was a blue rider and he knew him reasonably well. “But he came here from Fort and Impressed after the first mating flight I was here for, and I think I remember he still has kin there. Is it that?”

“That’s what he told me,” said S’bastien.

“He can be on his way tomorrow if he likes,” Andromache said, flicking her fingers. “One down won’t affect us much.”

“You know, they tell you when you’re that young,” S’bastien said, gesturing to the height of his youngest son, “that if you Impress a bronze dragon, you’ll be a leader, you’ll be respected, you’ll be glamorous. They don’t tell you how long the meetings are.”

Quỳnh punched him lightly in the arm. “They didn’t tell me anything. They just put me in a white robe and told me not to be afraid. You had it easy.”

“You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life,” Andromache said, her lips curving as she looked at her fellow queen rider.

“Of course I was afraid,” Quỳnh said. “I wasn’t stupid. But then I met Ngoth, and _then_.” She didn’t need to say anything else; they were all riders here. “I have one more thing. Two more things. Firstly, we need to start getting the Benden girl to come to these meetings. She’s had enough time to get used to the idea. They will have put all sorts of silly notions in her head, and the sooner we start knocking them out the better. The boys who Impressed our new bronzes – they’re raised here, and both barely adults. They can wait a year or two.”

Andromache shook her head. “Not just yet. Another few tendays. Have either of you even managed to talk to her?” She looked to N’colo and S’bastien.

“No,” N’colo said, “but likely she is just asleep on her feet.”

“Mmmm,” said Andromache. “We’ll see. What was the other thing, love?”

Quỳnh spun the piece of chalk she’d been playing with in her fingers and pointed it directly at N’colo. “Tell him to stop mooning over the Harper. It’s beneath his dignity as Weyrleader.”

“I’m not mooning,” N’colo said, with any dignity he was left in possession with after that statement; given the way Andromache and S’bastien burst into laughter, it wasn’t much. “Shards. Is it _that_ obvious?”

“Dragons talk,” Quỳnh said, smirking at him.

“Ada is taking bets,” S’bastien said, his eyes dancing.

N’colo wiped a hand across his face. “Is it obvious to _him_?”

“He’s a Harper,” said Andromache. “Probably.” Her face grew more serious. “Really, though, N’colo; you can’t play favourites right now. I know it’s an…odd situation…and he’s twice the age of most of the rest of them. But his dragon is still very young.”

“I know,” N’colo said, feeling embarrassed. “I know. I – just like him, that’s all. I would have bedded him if he’d been here for the night, and he’d been amenable, and maybe not thought twice about it. Now it’s…complicated.”

“You would have been trying to persuade him that the Weyr needed a Master Harper,” S’bastien said. “Don’t lie to us. You’re no good at it.”

_At least you’re not lying to yourself anymore_ , Genoth said. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to meetings; they weren’t the sort of thing dragons found interesting.

“My dragon agrees with you,” N’colo said. “All right. All right, Weyrwoman, I understand.”

“I know you do,” Andromache said, with sympathy. It wasn’t so bad. “Get out of here, all of you, it’s another lovely day in Ista and I for one am not spending the rest of it on the ground.”

*

N’colo tried; he did. He spent no more time with Y’suf than was reasonable, and necessary to answer his many questions about life in a Weyr. They were both busy, anyway, so it was not that much time at all, and it turned out to be a good thing. Y’suf told him about the way Nile was flinching every time his name was mentioned, his and S’bastien’s, and N’colo took that to Andromache, and Andromache went to her weyr and soothed her fears, or at least made a start on it.

“I just can’t believe,” she said later that day, pacing around N’colo’s quarters, “the state those misbegotten idiots at Benden left her in – are they all like that, N’colo?” She stopped suddenly and turned on her heel, to stare at him. “All the Weyr-raised girls? Terrified?”

“You know the ones here are not,” he told her truthfully. “And I think it makes a difference whether – whether or not you might want that at all. It’s the same way with some of the green riders, you know, who have no interest in men. It’s hard. But most of them…you’ve met the other Weyrwomen. They’re not like that.” Though N’colo could not swear to it for every queen rider at every Weyr; some of the ones at High Reaches had been quiet women. Or that was what he remembered. He wondered what the truth was.

Andromache swore very inventively for a good two minutes. N’colo listened, and tucked a couple of the more unusual combinations away for later. You never knew.

“I thought I was brave,” she said, sinking down into a chair, finally. “When I snuck in, the day I met Scythiath. And I was. Quỳnh was brave when they took her to Igen Weyr. But I think this girl might have both of us beat. She kept getting up every morning, and she didn’t try to run away.”

“With a two-month-old dragon?”

“I would have tried,” Andromache said, tipping her head back, eyes glittering. “If I’d thought for a second L’kon – but he wasn’t like that, and there _weren’t_ any other queen riders by the time Scythiath flew, and S’bastien has had Ada since before he Impressed, even. N’colo, don’t try to speak to her yet, all right? Let her come and find you, in her own time. I think she will.”

“As you command,” N’colo said, with a rider’s salute.

Andromache accepted it with a wave. “You’re my favourite Weyrleader, you know.”

“Only until Marsilieth flies Scythiath again,” N’colo countered. “Then S’bastien will be.”

“Of course.” She grinned. “I like her, you know. Nile. She’s…going to be a good fit.”

“Oh yes,” N’colo said, amused; he recognised that particular look in Andromache’s eye. “What was that advice you were giving me the other day, about mooning, and dignity, and young dragons –”

“You know what, I just remembered, I promised I’d talk with Ada about the deliveries –” Andromache darted out of his weyr, patting Genoth on his massive shoulder as she passed him by. N’colo watched her go, grinning.

*

“Weyrleader,” Y’suf greeted him formally, the next tenday. N’colo took that as a cue; the Harper was very aware of social interactions, as one might expect, even in so casual a Weyr as Ista, and he was saying he wanted to speak with N’colo in that way.

“Brown rider Y’suf,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Nile wants to speak with you,” Y’suf said. “But not alone. No disrespect intended to you, you understand. If you have time, this afternoon…”

“I understand,” N’colo said. “Perhaps in the library? There are no lessons held just before dinner.”

Y’suf nodded quickly, which meant he approved of the choice of space. N’colo decided to take his pleasure in that approval as a sensible acknowledgement of Y’suf’s experience as a Harper – hatchling dragon or no, the man was much of an age with him, maybe a Turn or two older.

“Weyrleader,” was also how Nile greeted him, when she entered the library later that day. “Thank you for finding time for me.” Y’suf came in just behind her, but took a seat a little removed, and made a show of examining a scroll.

“You’re a queen rider of this Weyr,” N’colo said. “I will always have time for you, and so will S’bastien, and our young bronze riders of your hatching, when they are old enough to have the same duties. But it is good to meet you properly. I am grateful that you are ready to speak with me.”

Nile bent her head, graciously. She was a queen rider, every inch of her, even riding on the thin edge of her nerves.

“I came here myself from High Reaches, you know,” N’colo went on. “Eight Turns gone now.”

“You were raised there, do I have that right?” Nile said, and they exchanged a little conversation about riders they both knew who had moved between there and Benden, and the Weyrleaders at both Weyrs, and Nile’s father, who N’colo had seen once before he Impressed but never spoken to. The accident had been news at every Weyr, of course; it was rare to lose a bronze rider when Thread was not falling.

Y’suf looked pleased with himself, but it could have been what he was reading; although N’colo recognised the color tags of a work on dragon anatomy, so. Probably not.

“I was worried,” he said frankly to Nile, when the talk of mutual acquaintances and Weyr business had relaxed her. “When you came here from Benden. When I came from High Reaches, I came with a great deal of instruction about what needed to happen at Ista to make it ready for Threadfall. I assumed you came with similar instructions.”

“I did,” Nile said, her great dark eyes watching him carefully. “You obviously didn’t pay much attention to them once you got here. You liked how Andromache ran things?”

“I loved it, once I understood it,” N’colo said. “We are one with our dragons, but we aren’t our dragons. We should not use them as excuses for what we do. They would not do the same to us.”

Nile ducked her head. “No. No, I – would have argued with you on that point, two months ago. Not now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” N’colo caught her eye again. “Nile, Threadfall will be upon us a lot sooner than any of us would like, while all of us are still active riders, and we will need good people here. Good leaders. Having someone who does not need to grow into the job – or not as much as our youngest riders – will be a blessing. We’re glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here,” Nile said, fiercely. “Thank you.”

They were both distracted by a noise; it was Y’suf, putting the scroll he had been pretending to read away. “I might…” He gestured at the door. “Unless, Nile, you want me to stay?”

“I won’t take any more of your time,” Nile said. “Thank you, Y’suf.”

He gave her a real smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes; they really were friends, N’colo realised. “Any day.”

“I hear you’ve been helping him a great deal,” N’colo said once Y’suf was gone. “That’s very kind.”

“It is and it’s not.” Nile spread her palms. “The next-oldest new rider is seventeen Turns. Y’suf is the only one close to my age, or me to his. I can help him with stories about Weyr life, and he helps me not feel quite so old.”

“You’re still _very_ young, you know,” N’colo said, not to be cruel but because Nile was not much more than the age he’d been when he’d come to Ista, and he’d been very young then, as old and responsible as he’d felt, and too young to know it.

“Everybody here is young,” Nile said. “S’bastien’s the oldest of all of you and he doesn’t even have forty Turns. That’s the _other_ reason all the other Weyrleaders say the things they do.”

“It means we’ll still be here when Thread comes, though. And for a good while after, if we’re lucky.”

“It’s why the Weyrs exist,” Nile said, simply. “The time’s going to come, and we’ll do the job we’re meant for.”

*

“So what do you think of Nile, now you know her?” Y’suf asked him, the next day.

“I think she’s going to be a good rider, and a great Weyrwoman, one day very far from now,” N’colo said. “When Andromache is tired of it. Now if we can just find two or three more like her, before Thread comes, we will be in an excellent place.”

“I don’t know anything about what makes great Weyrwomen – or Weyrleaders, come to that,” Y’suf said. “But I know I like her, and that she’s kind and intelligent and brave, and so I will agree with you.”

“You’ve been kind to her too,” N’colo said. “Thank you.”

Y’suf gave him a rider’s salute, only a little clumsily. N’colo felt the mantle of being Weyrleader – even as it was at Ista, with a Weyrwoman such as Andromache – resting heavily on his shoulders, in that moment. Everything she’d said to him on that score had been correct. And yet.

“Y’suf,” he said. “I know you will have been told in your lessons, and I suspect by Nile as well, and S’bastien or the other brown riders for all I know, that…it is very demanding, taking care of hatchling dragons. And some things have to be…laid aside, for a while.”

“This may surprise you,” said Y’suf, “but more or less half the riders in the Weyr have found occasion to mention that to me recently.”

“They’re very diligent,” N’colo said, smiling ruefully. “It’s too late and too early at the same time, but I still wanted to say…I have some things to say to you on that score. One day. For myself.”

Y’suf took his hand; lightly, thumb on his knuckles and fingers barely brushing his palm. “When I saw you in the Hatching Grounds, I thought you were someone I would…like to get to know. However briefly, perhaps. But we don’t find ourselves in that situation anymore. And I have been listening to everything I’ve been told.”

“Then perhaps we can speak of this again,” N’colo said, keeping his voice light. “When you feel the time is right.”

Y’suf gave him a small quirk of a smile, barely there, and lifted his hand to brush a kiss across his fingertips. It was the most intense feeling N’colo had experienced since Scythiath’s last mating flight. He felt, in the back of his mind, Genoth’s curiosity.

“When the time is right,” Y’suf said, and let his hand go. “N’colo, there is another question on my mind. How do we fix it?”

“Fix what?” N’colo said blankly, wresting his mind back to – whatever Y’suf was talking about.

“Ista seems to me to be very well-run,” Y’suf said. “Everybody is happy, and they know their work, and if a command is given it is obeyed, not out of fear or habit but because Andromache has everybody’s respect, and so do the other three of you. And nobody is resentful, or at least not beyond the usual small things. But I have heard from Nile and now from you that the other Weyrs have twice sent their own here, intending to change that. I think, instead, it would be better if they changed.”

“I thought the Harper Hall were the keepers of tradition.”

“We are the keepers of the knowledge needed to make sure we all survive Threadfall, and everything in between it. Many of our traditions are worth keeping. But if we can do better…why should we not?”

“Our job is to fight Thread.”

“Yes. That gives us, as I reckon it, a little under twelve Turns.” Y’suf spread his hands. “A lot can happen in twelve Turns. Think of all the eggs that will hatch, and all the riders who will meet their dragons, and some of them, their fears.”

“Ista didn’t just happen, you know,” N’colo said. “It happened because Andromache fought for it, and because she found Quỳnh and S’bastien, and because there was nobody else, once L’kon died. And because he was a good man too, I think, from Andromache’s stories. It will be a lot harder elsewhere. Too many people who believe it is their right to do things the way they always have, or that if they suffered through something, so must others. But you are in the business of changing hearts, Harper, so I suppose if you say it is possible – it is worth the attempt.”

“I’m a dragonrider now,” Y’suf said, standing tall. “And I want to be proud of that, for more than just my Tunith. So I will be both.”

“We all have to be more than one thing as dragonriders. I’m surprised you haven’t learned that already.”

“I know,” said brown Tunith’s rider, and smiled. “And you know, and you are with me, and I think, perhaps, N’colo, everything may yet be all right after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~deconstructing my childhood and loving it~, if anybody has ideas for other things they'd like to see in this universe head on over to my Tumblr and throw them in my inbox.


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